


Like A Glove

by Squeemish



Series: Lizard Love Prompts From The Tumblr [6]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: A slight case of puns, Attempt at Humor, Banter, Established Relationship, Ficlet, Fluff, Fluffy?, Gen, M/M, sure why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 23:48:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15012068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squeemish/pseuds/Squeemish
Summary: Dialogue prompt: “Sometimes I wonder if I’m really cut out for this line of work.”Garak is a bit cranky while working, but Julian makes it better.





	Like A Glove

**11\. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m really cut out for this line of work.”**

 

It was a hideous piece of fabric. The most lukewarm tone of sepia, battered with squares and triangular shapes of purple and white, all together to form a truly sickening sight. Garak pinned the thing in place, mouth twisting into a sour expression as he brushed an errant thread aside. Just touching it made him feel tainted.

Julian sat on the desk, observing his work, somewhat brooding. His fingers drummed an impatient beat.

“How’s it coming along?” He asked, tapping away. Garak threw him a suffering look.

“Sometimes I wonder if I’m really cut out for this line of work.” A pin popped out. Garak smoothed it back down with a glare. “Being constantly needled by customers starts to take its toll after a while.” The tapping stopped.

“Really?” said Julian, “I think it suits you well.”

“Seamlessly?”

_"Like a glove.”_

“Hm. Perhaps I’m getting too easily tied up in the negative aspects of my work.”

“It’s possible.” Julian scooted off the desk, “Although I fear there are... patterns.” Garak turned, brow raised.

“Patterns?” He whispered. Julian nodded, serious.

“Symptoms, you might say.”

“There’s no need to skirt around, Doctor.” said Garak, and straightened himself taller, “If something is wrong, I’d very much like to know.” Julian sighed.

“Very well,” Never had Julian’s voice reached such a level of severity. His eyes too nearly welled up. “I won’t sugar coat the issue,” His voice trembled ever so slightly, “I’m afraid there are patterns common to that of... unresolved sexual tension.” Garak’s eyes widened in horror.

“You don’t say!” He gasped, “But are you certain these symptoms are not merely a fabrication of mine, meant to take advantage of Starfleet’s misguided compassion?”

“Ohh, I’m quite confident in my diagnosis. The thread of your thoughts is unusually easy to follow.”

“Well is there any hope for me, Doctor?” Garak gazed at Julian, pleading, “Surely your skills of healing measure up against this horrifying disease?”

“The situation is quite serious, but not hopeless.” Julian assured, and took a step closer, “I’d recommend getting a professional...” He raised a hand to the zipper of his shirt, “...such as myself,” Slowly, he pulled the zipper down to his chest, and parted the shirt to better reveal his collarbone. Garak stared, lips parted. Julian placed his warm hands on Garak’s arms, then dragged them up to his shoulders and squeezed.

“Who then would pin you against a--”

“ALRIGHT!” Quark’s shriek pierced through the air, and nearby eardrums, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had… plans!” Scrambling toward the exit, he pressed his wrists together in an apology, the unfinished jacket still pinned to him. “I’ll come back in, what, 10 minutes?” His overzealous chuckling dimmed to an impressed hum as Julian licked into Garak’s mouth with an obscene moan. “...Huh. Maybe 20.”

Quark made it to the door, but stalled, then turned around, smiling.

“You know, I have some excellent romantic holoprograms, perfect for this sort of-- OW.”

Quark stumbled out, right into Odo’s law abiding arms.

“Quark.” Odo shoved him away, narrowing his eyes, “Did Garak just throw a handbag at you?”

“No,” Quark rubbed his forehead, “Doctor Bashir did.” He scoffed, “Do no harm...” He shook a finger at the now closed door, ”WELL I AM HARMED!”

There was no answer for a few seconds. Quark huffed and turned to leave, when the door began to open.

Another handbag, purple, flew over Quark’s head. Odo caught it, meaning it happened to hit him right in the chest, so he awkwardly held onto it. He cradled the bag delicately in his palms as if it were a kitten, seemingly wondering how to proceed, and eventually moved toward the door. Quark grabbed his arm.

“They’re closed.” He whispered, and patted Odo’s arm. Shaking his head, he went to pick the first bag off the floor, and marched off toward the bar, untailored coattails swishing. Odo looked at Quark, then at the purple bag, and back at Quark.

“Quaaark!” Odo bellowed as he ran, the purple bag clutched to his side, “that is stolen property--!”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Asked for prompts to battle writer's block and this one was the first! Thank you very much for the prompter, this was a lot of fun to write!


End file.
